


Got a Feeling Inside That I Can't Domesticate.

by LealAlchemical



Series: An Altmer and a Nord walked into a bar... [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Other, Trans Character, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23280367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LealAlchemical/pseuds/LealAlchemical
Summary: Adventures of The Last Dragonborn known as Graelynne.Life was never simple, never particularly easy, and never terribly kind. However, after a profitable venture to the Shivering Isles she finds it hard to shake the sudden friendship of an eccentric Altmer.(Tags and description are likely to change)Title comes from Bishop's Knife Trick- Fallout boy.
Series: An Altmer and a Nord walked into a bar... [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1839193
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

Sheogorath stood, his blank eyes and white hair contrasting against the vibrant, split colors of his clothes. His staff rested in his hand and he gazed at the summoner, who was somewhat unusual compared to those who tended to formally call upon him. They were clearly not some scholar looking for answers they can’t handle, nor someone who sought to end his madness. No, this was one of the third types, the ones with requests.

The nord was tall, with pale hair and strong features. One eye was a clear, crystalline blue that made something in the Daedric prince constrict painfully, and the other was cloudy and unseeing. A set of thick scars clawed their way through the ruined orb and down the Nord's chin. But there was no effort to hide it, at least not here. Not for this meeting at least.

The request that this person had summoned Shogorath for was interesting, it was also fairly intriguing that he had been summoned by a nord in a shrine in Cyrodil. A familiar shrine...

"I know you can do it. Change someone's body, that is. All I ask is for my body to be… What it should have been." Their voice- her voice, was level and clear as though speaking to a merchant.

"So, you're desperate enough to turn to the prince of madness then? What price would you be willing to pay? Your mind? Perhaps your eyes?"

"One that is fitting for such a request." There was a moment of hesitation "My lord."

"It's bold to leave yourself so open, I could ask you to kill your family. Would you do it?"

"I do not fear the death of my family, they've long been buried."

There was resignation in her tone. Once again, the body language and the words unspoken caused a painful chord to be struck in the mad god's chest. This person… There was something about them that made the prince bite back the name Martin and hold back the screaming, fluttering, memories.

Some part of him almost tore out her other eye and he instead decided to fold his hands behind him to resist.

“You… You show mercy to the madmen, whatever their infirmity. Even those who are simply considered mad to those around them but not to you. I’ve had to live my life as a man who never existed, I simply ask to be who I am. Nothing more.”

Her words stumbled out, like something she couldn’t believe she had said. In the torchlight, her face had a sorrow to it, something beyond the typical harsh thoughts brought on by the harsher north.

"In seven days, there will be a gate in the Niben Bay. By the eighth day, there will be no way through." He spoke, softly. Urgently, moving slightly closer.

That dreadfully familiar gaze flared to life, and resignation shifted to… Not hope exactly, but something more akin to pride.

"There's something familiar about you, a puzzle with the wrong pieces perhaps.” He continued. 

“ If you survive the journey to New Sheoth, with my permission for safe passage, of course, the price will be simple. In fact, you'll hardly miss it. Of course, may I know your name?"

"Graelynn. I'd ask yours, but I wouldn't have come to your shrine if I didn't already know it." 

She was smiling now, head held high and the Daedric prince wondered if getting involved was a mistake, but oh well. He specialized in getting involved in mortal affairs, though not quite cruelly as some other Daedra did.

"Well, Graelynn. I certainly hope to find you in New Sheoth, I certainly hope you make it there."

He paused for a moment. 

"And when you hear Xedillian's call… If you hear it… Don't call upon the name Sheogorath, ask the air for the wanderer. Ask for the Hero, then close your eyes and keep them that way, he'll guide you for a way until the call subsides. That will be your test, to see if you are fit to stay in the Isles for a time."

With the last words of advice lingering in the air the mad god returned to the Shivering Isles and waited. Curious as to if this person would dare follow, and be willing to pay what he asked

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Graelynn stared at the face in the reflection, it stared back. It was her face for certain. The scars, the bad eye, the tattoo. All hers, but for once in her life. It was really hers.

The change was mild, but it was what she had wanted. There was no longer a prickle of pale stubble, just smooth skin. Her chin pointed just slightly more and the adam's apple was gone. 

Her body was different in several noticeable ways, with two major areas where things were drastically different and the rest was still long-limbed and well-muscled. A tad hairy, but most women were outside of paintings and argonians.

She felt comfortable in her movements so she must have had this body for several days at least but had no memory of it. She remembered the gateway, she remembered meeting a man named Haskill who offered her two keys. She remembered running past the misshapen gatekeeper at full sprint until out of reach.

She remembered navigating the strange, shifting landscape, the colors, the silence and unsilence.

Then singing, something pulled her towards… somewhere. It promised what she sought. The landscape changed from bright and sunny to muted and rainy. 

Don't call upon the name Sheogorath, ask the air for the wanderer. Ask for the Hero.

The words sprang into her mind, and she did as the words told and closed her eyes. A hand brushed hers before grasping it with cold, thin fingers. A man's voice spoke to her as they walked, walked until they were on the path again and the singing had faded.

She could not remember what he said, or his name though she felt she should. When she opened her eyes there was no one and the sun was pouring richly down onto the landscape.

There was less memory after this. Bliss, and its instability. Crucible, and its decay. Standing below the entrance to the palace. Looking the mad god in his molten gold eyes.

The more she tried to think about what happened next, the more thorough the blank spaces were in disorienting her and giving her a headache. It wasn’t fragmented, or nonsensical, it was just empty. As though it had never been there in the first place.

So she stood up, brushed off the unfamiliar clothes and stood on the shore for a bit. Noting that her boat and her axe had since been removed from the island and somebody was about to be very displeased with how she was going to treat them over it. How hard is it to follow the instructions to leave the spare boat on the shore and the axe on that rock over there? 

Graelynne sighed staring across the water before taking off the ornate jacket, dropping it to the ground and thanking whatever was listening that it was summer and praying that there wasn’t anything too nasty lurking where she couldn’t see it before leaping into the cool water and starting the swim to the nearest shore.


	2. Steps of Jorrvaskr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI. Glad to see you. I just wanted to say, for the record. I am not a trans woman. I am nonbinary and operating off of my own feeling and experience and I have a close relative who is trans. Please let me know if something is an issue and I will review it and see if it should be changed or removed.
> 
> I want to stick with the fact that it is a fantasy world so while transphobia may exist for the most part it's not a huge factor. Because this is fanfiction and I said so.

Graelynn stood at the steps of Jorrvaskr, fiddling with the edges of the cloth that covered her ruined eye. Normally she didn’t bother, but in the cities she could still hear the old woman snarling to

  


“ _ Cover that mess, it’s disgusting _ ” 

  


It was ridiculous, really, that it still bothered her. Many people in Skyrim had similar scars. Reminders of war and the unforgiving wilds. Regardless, the habit was hard to break and the scars on the back of her hands still persuaded her to listen all these years later. 

  


_ Focus, it doesn’t matter. _

__ Graelynn held the amulet that she wore around her neck and glanced at the statue before starting up the steps for the first time since she was a child being healed at the temple.

  


The door hadn’t changed in the time since she had seen it. Scarred and foreboding it looked as though the wood had turned to stone by the ages rather than crumble and decay as most wood did over time.Despite the sense of anxiety building in her chest, she pushed through. Glad that all attention was focused towards two people rapidly escalating towards a fight. The fighting wasn’t unusual, even as a child she remembered watching with the two boys as the adults fought over silly things. What was unusual was the presence of a dark elf and Graelynn tried hard not to stare. 

  


_ It’s not a bad thing, kind of nice actually. Besides, he seems to fit right in. _

  


“Can I help you?” A woman's voice startled her out her thoughts.

  


“I uh..” Graelynn trailed off. It was the redhead from outside the city gates, and gods was she still just as striking as she was after fighting the giant.

  


“Oh, I see. You’re the one who ran into us while fighting that brute. Glad to see you are at least considering my offer.”

  


“It was, um.” Graelynn cleared her throat. “It was my reason to come by Whiterun in the first place. Running into you at the farm was a lucky accident I suppose.”

  


“And I suppose if you want to join you’ll need to go speak with Kodlak Whitemane.”

  


Graelynn nodded.

  


“And where-”

  


“Downstairs, to the end of the hall. Wait outside the door if he’s already talking to someone.”

  


Graelynn nodded again. Hesitating for a moment as the fight broke up and the Companions resumed their activity around the hall. Steeling herself for the curious looks she ducked through and into the lower portion of Jorrvaskr, nodding to the old woman sweeping the stone floors.

The door was closed, so she took a deep breath and took advantage of the moment to observe and try not to listen to the conversation within.

  


As interesting as the phrase  _ “But I still feel the call of the blood” _ was, it wasn’t her business. Besides, it definitely wouldn’t earn her any good will if she was caught eavesdropping.

  


\----------------------------------------------------

  


“I still don’t see how she could have helped with a giant.” The man named Skor said to Aela, looking unimpressed.

  


“You weren’t there. One moment it’s just Farkas, Ria, and me. Next thing we know she comes charging out of nowhere, axe raised, screaming for blood. Then she says hello as if nothing had happened, makes sure we’re all sound enough to walk back to Jorrvaskr, and helps us drag the body out of the field.”

  


Graelynne shrugged.

  


“It seemed like the right thing to do. Not like you guys didn’t have it handled but after the ones I’ve run into, the more sides you can hit from the better.”

  


“Right you are, and Vilkas said you needed a little work on your technique but made up for it determination.” Aela nodded her head at the dark-haired man arguing with his brother across the hall.

  


“He didn’t tell me that. He said I fought like a rabid dog and flailed about like one too.” The fight had been interesting, and Graelynn had quickly realized just how rarely she faced someone who had received proper combat training.

  


Aela snorted into her mug.

  


“Well, you do.” Skor started.

  


“All bite and no direction. Yet, you pushed him back. Blocked him a few times, pushed him to the dirt and was clear enough to step back out of reach and watch what happened next. I can tell you that the last person who got him down had to be dragged out after he tried to kick his chest in.” Aela finished.

  


Graelynn winced.

“Bad move, makes it too easy to grab the foot and flip them to the ground. Better move is to wait for them to be off-balance as they try and get up. Even then, watch for a fist full of dirt or a thrown dagger.”

  


Graelynn froze for a moment, seeing the disapproving eyebrows from Skor and the look of amusement on Aela’s face.

  


“I’m used to dealing with bandits… If you want to defeat someone who fights dirty, best to resort to some dirty tricks of your own.” She backtracked a little, even though she knew the only backhandedness the Companions truly looked down upon was the interference of magic. 

  


Skor nods at this, but he still seems generally disapproving ( _ Is that just how he is? _ ). Aela sighs, and it takes Graelynn a half moment to realize it’s not aimed at her but at Farkas and Vilkas.

  


Whatever their argument is over it seems to have escalated. 

  


“I better go see what it’s about this time and whether or not to let them at each other or break it up.”

  


She left, leaving Graelynn and Skor to awkwardly avoid making eye contact and avoid conversation. Or at least until,

  


“You know, until you got the grime off I didn’t recognize your face.”

  


Graelynne felt her heart flutter uncomfortably, she didn’t like where this was heading.

  


“You were the one that stayed at the temple for a time, the one Aedir brought in from that vampire attack. He passed away some time ago, cornered by draugr in what was supposed to be an in and out retrieval.”

  


Graelynne stayed silent, watching.

  


“You know, he always regretted not stopping the temple from sending you to Riften. I suppose he just wanted you to have a normal life, don’t see what’s wrong with this though.”

  


Graelynne snorted, 

  


“Yeah, I’m inclined to agree.”

  


She took a long drink of ale before continuing.

  


“Hell, I’m pretty sure getting eaten alive by skeevers is better than being treated like one by that old hag. For the record, just so you know next time some little kid has the option of being raised by a bunch of mercenaries and drunkards, Honorhall is hell. It took me years to get out and find a path that didn’t include selling junk to bandits.”

  


Skor nods,

  


“Explains why you know how to fight. Then again, unless I’m wrong as of last year you were a young lad starting fights in the tavern. I don’t know what happened, and I don’t want to know why. I want to know if your price was worth it and if it makes you dangerous.”

  


“Nothings hanging over my head if that’s what you mean. I have no debt for this. My price has been paid and I am content.”

  


Graelynne picked at the scrape across the back of her knuckles as she continued.

  


“I’d rather this not be... The new gossip. Not to say that the Companions gossip like a bunch of old women, but I already know you do on occasion. If somebody has questions or has a problem. Send them to me, I know it’s unusual…”

  


“Wasn’t my question to begin with. Farkas was too nervous to ask and Vilkas wasn’t going to confront you. For the record, Kodlak recognized you too but he doesn’t care. You have the right spirit and that’s what’s going to matter here.”

  


“Thank you.”

  


Skor shrugged, refilled his drink and pointed casually over at the far side with an expression that could have been a smirk.

  


Graelynne looked over just in time to watch Aela duck as Vilkas threw a punch at his brother. Judging by the huntress's grin and the snarking from both brothers, it was another lighthearted brawl and soon Graelynne was cheering it along with the rest of her new family. 

  


Even being the “whelp” as everyone seemed determined to call her, it already felt like home.


	3. Sit by the fire a while.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An introduction to a new character, some more poorly written dialogue (I'm sorry).

The Winking Skeever was busy in the evening and it seemed as if half the populace of Solitude was stopping by for mead, wine, and conversation as the workday came to a close. On the outskirts of the chatter sat Graelynn, nursing her own drink and processing the events of the day. 

The companions had sent her to terrorize a few bandits in the area. A simple task and one made even more satisfying her experiences working with them as a go-between to trade for food and other supplies years ago. It had been dangerous and had led to several precarious situations that had provoked her initial move to Cyrodiil. 

On her way to the Inn where she planned on staying the night she had (quite literally) ran into a man ranting and wandering the streets. Bemoaning the loss of his master, he handed the startled nord a hip bone and directed her to the abandoned wing of the Blue Palace.

There, in the mind of a deceased emperor, Graelynn had met Sheogorath once more and the experience was disconcerting to say the least. She knew she had previously summoned him, she knew what they had discussed, but the memory of the mad god himself was hazy and faceless. Despite the indistinctness of her memories she forged ahead. Exploring the surface of Pelagius’s mind and fears. Eventually leaving the wing of the palace with the Wabbajack and a headache.

The whole encounter had been a mess, and the Daedric prince hardly seemed to recognize her at times. When he did seem to lock onto her features with recognition he rambled about things she had no memory of. Greeting her as a stranger one moment and a dear friend the next.

Graelynn was snapped out of her quiet contemplation of the events by a question.

“Sorry, can you repeat that? Wasn’t paying attention.”  
Graelynn winced at the roughness of her own voice, a result of overusing shouts with too little practice.

“I was asking if it’s ok that I sit here.”  
The question came from a pale altmer who gestured to the empty seat beside her.

“Yes, go ahead.” She paused, looking him up and down. “You’re from Cyrodiil, right?”

The elf chuckled at that, sitting down and tugging at his sleeves slightly.

“Yes, I suppose it’s obvious?” 

Graelynn took a sip of her mead before answering, trying to soothe her throat before continuing.

“First of all, you have an accent. Second, most of the altmer aren’t being terribly friendly to the nords at the moment.”

The elf hummed, “Shame that, you lot tend to have the most extraordinary stories once you can be convinced to tell them.”

Graelynn snorted softly, “Some, yes. Though I feel all travelers do. Even elves.”

“Ah, turning the conversation back to me I see, clever. I don’t suppose either of us have mentioned names, have we?”

“No, not as of yet. I’m Graelynn, member of the Companions.”

“Syrisse, member of nothing.”

Member of nothing? No, not likely. The man had too many pockets, was too watchful, and moved with delicate, silent precision. He was most likely a member of the thieves guild, probably here on a job. Graelynn made a mental note to pay more attention to his hands and her pockets.

“Well, good to meet you Syrisse.”

They continued to make small talk by the fire, dancing verbal circles whenever it came to their pasts. Graelynn making excuses for her voice-

“Slept out in the chill for a few nights, didn’t have a good enough bedroll and couldn’t keep the fire lit.”

And Syrisse making excuses for- 

Well, a lot of things from his robes to his past. They parted for the night with Graelynn only aware that he was an Altmer from Cyrodill, his name was Syrisse, he was a mage, and he wasn’t a huge fan of alcohol but thought the nord mead was drinkable. When the member of the companions rose in the morning and made a quick inventory of what she had, everything was present and she began to wonder if she had dreamed of the encounter by the fire last night when she asked the innkeeper whether they had seen him this morning.

“Altmer in a dark blue robe? Can’t say I have, don’t see the mage types around here very often. You should try the college, he was probably just resting on his way there.”

“Yeah, probably. Well, take care.” Graelynn headed out into the early morning sun and the waking city. 

Travel was uneventful. She declined the option of the carriage, packed her bags on her horse, and set off. Following roads and shortcuts, stopping for the nights in secluded glens and shallow caves. On one of these nights she lay facing the stars, drifting off to sleep beside the fire when she heard the cracking twigs of approaching footsteps. Her horse snorted, shifting as it too noticed the approaching noise. One hand already grasping the handle of her axe Graelynn slipped from the furs and mentally prepared herself to use some of her limited knowledge of the draconic tongue. 

“Whoever’s there, I’m warning you. I am a member of the companions, I am armed, and I do not appreciate strangers entering my campsite when they think I’m asleep.”

The noise stopped and a blond head stuck out from behind a tree. 

“Oh! It’s you! Thank the gods.” Syrisse emerged from the treeline, his staff across his back with a pack. He wasn’t wearing a mages garb now, instead wearing simple traveling clothes with his long hair braided down his back.

“Don’t thank them yet, what are you even doing here?” Graelynn was perturbed, it had been days since she had left Solitude and Whiterun was close. She had been on horseback and had often left the main roads in favor of shortcuts and more direct routes. This sole altmer, who had claimed no knowledge of the area, who had been on foot had somehow caught up with her. 

“I’m afraid I got lost, I saw a campfire and figured if it was a friendly traveler I may have a safe place for the night. An army camp and I may be able to be pointed in the right direction-”

“Unless it’s the Stormcloaks.” Graelynn cut in.

“Ah, yes. Well, they’d be lumped in with the ‘Notably less friendly traveler’ category where I set the nearest object on fire and go running into the wilderness. Don’t suppose you fall into the friendly category, right?”

Graelynn sighed, lowering her axe and giving him a hard look.

“Touch me or my stuff and I won’t, but I’ll let you stay. I’m heading to Whiterun, so I’ll be able to drop you off there. If you want, I could get you a map and somebody to hire as an escort to Winterhold.”

“Whyever would I want to go there? I’m here to explore, to learn. Not get involved in more petty mage power squabbles.” 

“That’s fair, just watch your tongue in the city. They wouldn’t hesitate to protect their land and their faith from the Thalmor, and to some of them every high elf is a Thalmor agent waiting to imprison them.”  
“I’m afraid I’ve been traveling for some time, since when did the Thalmor have a say in Skyrim’s religion?”

Graelynn shrugged, “I’m not sure, I just know they got the empire to claim Talos wasn’t a god and made worshipping him illegal.” She rubbed the Talos amulet as she spoke. “Whiterun still has a statue out in the open, they’re proud not to be under the empire's control or the Thalmor’s. They’re trying to stay neutral.”

Syrisse stared at the fire. “They understand Talos was dragonborn, right? That Tiber Septim, that all the Septims were at least acknowledged by the divines in some way or another.”

Graelynn shrugged again. “There are no more dragonborn. The dragons returned and their only true predator didn’t. Well, some say there is one more dragonborn. That the greybeards called them and they never came.”

Syrisse stayed quiet. Gazing at the flames, his green eyes gleaming yellow in the light. His hands twisted around each other, nervously, as he blinked slowly. “On that note, I say we seek rest. Do you want me to keep watch?”

“It’s fine. No one comes up here because of the rumor that there’s a massive troll around. First of all, the troll’s bullshit. It’s been dead for over a year. Second of all the fire will keep most things away. Third, if something spooks the horse, trust me, she’ll wake both of us.”

“You’ve done this a lot.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. I stop here when coming back from Solitude, Morthal, Dawnstar, and whenever I’m coming back from that general direction.” Graelynn poked at the fire, adding some more wood and blowing life into the coals. “Most of the companions do, it’s nice and quiet, there’s the old troll den we cleaned out in case the weather's foul, and we stop by often enough the bandits never hang around for very long.”

“I see, and I suppose this means I should also keep my mouth shut or the entirety of your guild will make sure it doesn’t open again?”

“Pretty much.”

Syrisse nodded, laying out his bedroll and blankets closer to the fire. They both had packs wedged under their heads as both pillows and security, weapons close to hand. Graelynn still had doubts, considering he definitely looked to be a member of the thieves guild with his deliberately nondescript clothing and belts of pouches slung across his narrow chest and waist.

But soon he was either asleep or had mastered the art of the slight snore and Graelynne began to slip off to sleep herself.


	4. Open up, don't just let it fester.

So far, the Altmer had settled inside the city. Staying in the inn but reportedly disappearing on occasion just to show up a few days later. They chatted often and he insisted on tagging along on many of her tasks given to her by the companions. 

He wasn’t bad company and was a good fighter, often using his magic to entrance and distract enemies as he stuck to the shadows. Beyond that he proved to be a mediocre healer and handy with a knife when pressed. Graelynn began to miss him on missions he wasn’t available for and was always glad to see when he had returned.

Some part of her wondered if maybe this was what it was like to fall in love, if maybe the warm feeling in her chest was it. She doubted it, for all Syrisse was a good friend he had some characteristics which made it hard to imagine starting any form of life with him.

He killed a little too easily, and showed little to no regret for his actions. He was erratic at times and had the habit of smirking at corpses as he went to search their pockets for treasures. He slept too little, letting Graelynn sleep through too many watches yet she could never tell when he was truly tired. Besides the more concerning factors, she felt she would go insane from his tendencies to disappear mid-conversation and the sudden bouts of unending chatter. While nothing of hers had disappeared he often showed up, slipping dubiously acquired jewels and septims into her pockets when she ran low on coin. 

Despite the issues though, she found it hard to shut him out of her life. For the most part, he was kind and he seemed to understand her past when she finally drunkenly mumbled it by the campfire one evening. Afterward, he mentioned his sister. Saying she died when he was young, that his family had been killed by a vampire and she had been turned. Eventually, she tried to escape the city with him and the attempt ended with her being killed and him being raised by the family of one of the guards.

He talked about it quietly, and Graelynn listened intently wondering how much more he wasn’t saying.

“Does it bother you then, when I call vampires monsters or slay their kind?” Graelynn watched him as he sat silently, head down. His light hair obscuring his features.

“No, my sister was… Different than most. She retained her kindness and her sense, maybe she would have inevitably lost those elements over time. I know most do, though I suspect it has more to do with confronting the loss you feel. It’s hard to be anything but a monster when that’s all you can bear to see yourself as.” His voice was so soft, with a vague tremor. Even though she couldn't see his face, she suspected he was biting back tears.

“You remind me of her in a way, stubborn. Brave, and kind, and… sad. You’ve mentioned the shivering isles, that you were born in the wrong body. But you know loss, but the way you smile with your broken heart is familiar. You remind me of an old friend I lost as well, how he brave and broken he was by the end.” His voice was choked up a little as he said the last part of the sentence.

Graelynn was silent for a long while.  
“There’s a reason I hate vampires. Beyond just what they are, beyond their lack of a heartbeat and a soul. It’s personal, and I have never heard of one that has made me want to revoke my grudge except for what you remember of your sister.

When I was young, my family was peculiar. We lived our peaceful lives near the marshes. My father made potions, my mother cured furs and pelts that people would bring for her. They knew who I was, they let me be me. When I told them I was a girl, they suggested I use my grandmother's name. She was a warrior, like I wanted to be.

One day my little sister grew ill but under my father’s treatments, she was recovering swiftly, though still bedridden. I left and wandered into the marshes to find something interesting to bring home to her. I wandered too far and got home late in the evening. I had found flowers and a small skull, probably that of a fox. I knew I was probably in trouble, but I was so proud to be able to find something interesting. I even had to fight off a spider the size off my hand to retrieve the skull.

The light by the door was not lit, and the windows shuttered. The door was open a crack, a tiny bit of light spilling out onto the ground. A wolf howled and I hurried inside not wanting to get caught by wild animals.”

Graelynn took a deep drink, finishing off the bottle and rubbing her face before resuming her story. The memories resisted being picked at, like scabs they hurt and bled and made her want to stop. To just fall silent and not say what happened next. Regardless of the instinct, she kept going.

“They were dead. All three of them. Necks torn, blood spraying the walls. Something hadn’t wanted to just feed, it wanted to play with them. Their eyes were missing, viscera smeared the walls and the floor. Bottles were smashed and furniture torn to shreds. I gagged, I started to scream.

Something came out of the shadows and grabbed me. Crooning how it was so glad to have found a little pet. That my mother had been so worried when I was late, that I had missed all the fun.

I tried to bite its arm to get it to let go, but I couldn’t get past the leather brace. I kicked and wailed. It was like being held by a statue. A cold, blood-covered statue.

It hummed about how pretty I’d be when my heart stopped. It grabbed my face and slowly dragged its claws across my face and through my eye. I was told later it was never meant to kill me, it wanted to turn me. That it had turned other people my age and left them to be killed. It was some form of sick game of cat and mouse, They'd kill everyone in house except for a child. Infect them, and leave. Letting their victim either be put down or to turn fully and kill someone.

Luckily, a member of the companions had been following that vampire for some time. He came in through the door and sent an arrow through the things head before it even had a chance to respond. It dropped me and he proceeded to hack it to pieces with the axe on his belt. I just sat there, watching. When he stopped he turned and only then seemed to realize I was there, he froze. Watching me for a bit before kneeling in front of me, he looked me in the eye for a bit before picking me up and carrying me out.

It’s pretty fuzzy from there, but I know he eventually got me to his horse and rode as fast as he could to Whiterun. He brought me to the temple and they healed me, but the wound was resistant to treatment and easily became infected. The eye stayed intact, but between the infections and the scarring, I eventually lost sight from it.

One day they just packed me up and sent me off to Honorhall orphanage. It was so bad there that when I finally managed to get the balls to swipe the keys and a pouch of money off the old hag’s belt I ran and never looked back.”

Syrisse stared from across the fire for a bit, the light reflecting gold in his eyes again. Graelynn couldn't tell if he was heartbroken or enraged. Could have both.

Graelynn looked away, the alcohol hindering her ability to keep from blushing as well as it hindered her ability to keep her own secrets. She picked at her nails until she felt a hand on her back. She hadn’t told anyone that before, she hadn’t told anyone about her family. She could feel her eyes tearing up, her shoulders shaking in silent sobs. Like scabs she had ripped the memories free, and now she knew she would bleed.

The elf did not shush her or tell her it was ok. He merely kept one hand on her back and gave her a hand to hold as she shuddered. Eventually, he made a gesture and she felt the urge to sleep. To let go for now, and let her eyes close.

The compulsion was overwhelming, yet welcome. A soft, quiet, nothing where she didn't have to think about it.

When she woke up, they packed up their meager camp and spoke nothing of the night before. Graelynn couldn’t bring herself to feel angry about his use of a spell on her, she had slept better than she had in a long time. Despite the hangover, she mustered up a smile and punched Syrisse in the arm before trudging off to the next town.


	5. Like an axe to the neck.

“What was that?” Syrisse stopped walking for a moment, looking around in confusion.

“What was what? You’ll have to be more-” Graelynn was cut off abruptly by the distinct, screeching, roar close by.

She swore, grabbing the mage by the wrist and taking off into the cover of the trees. Darting back and forth, leaping over logs and obstacles with a death grip on the slender wrist in her hand Graelynn cursed. Luckily Syrisse was keeping -If not matching- pace, looking behind them constantly.

He yelped as the sound of dragon wings filled the air and somewhere in the roaring of the dragon Graelynn could hear words. She pulled the elf to the side sharply as fire lit up the early morning. She heard the sound of Syrisse casting a spell and the dragon landing, so she stopped and yanked her axe from where it hung across her back. She tossed her pack roughly to the side and wheeled to face the threat.  
The dragon screamed again and she darted to the side, praying to whatever listened that the mage showed the same sense. 

The nord screamed in return, a wave of force whipping the dragon’s head back as she rushed in, swinging the axe into the plates on the beast’s neck before rolling to the side to avoid teeth. She could hear Syrisse casting lightning bolts at the creature, shouting and laughing. 

Good to know he’s enjoying himself.

This time when Graelynn swung the axe, she realized the elf was trying to keep the overgrown lizard’s attention on him. It was certainly working and it left the dragon open to one final, fatal, swing to where the plates joined on its neck. It hit the ground, spine severed. The nord kept going, not stopping until the head was almost fully separated from the neck and the whole corpse started to glow. She backed away, as if she could out run the sudden waves of light reaching for her. Even the blood covering her and the ground started to shimmer and dissolve like a mirage. The corpse dissolved with the exception of the bones and a collection of the scales and Graelynn fell to one knee, overwhelmed with the wave of knowledge and memories she knew she had no hope of processing. It all muddled together, leaving her head spinning and her insides churn.

Syrisse looked more impressed than surprised, kicking aside some vertebrae as he hurried over to Graelynn. His hands glowed and her bruises faded and the rough scrapes on her knuckles knitted back together. 

Soon the elf had an arm around her, helping her stumble to her feet.

“That...is something that could have been nice to know existed.” His tone was conversational, as though they had not been chased by a dragon that should by all rights still be buried in the ground.

Graelynn groaned in reply, trying not to throw up. She felt vaguely ill, apparently dragon souls were a little disagreeable. When they made it back to the road, Syrisse leaned her against a tree, pulling her water skin from it’s pack and making her drink some. The water didn’t help the nausea but eased the roughness in her throat. 

“Can you talk?” Syrisse sounded almost clinical, not entirely emotionless but not his typical level of expression either.

“Yes, didn’t overdo it. It’s not the shouting that’s-” she gagged before taking a sip of water and using it to rinse her mouth and spit.

“Don’t know why… It’s just kind of like this. Gets easier though, thought I was dieing the first time.”

Syrisse watched her quietly, “How long have you known?”

Graelynn shrugged, “When I came back to Skyrim, I was arrested because I walked into an ambush meant for Ulfric Stormcloak or something. Big black evil dragon showed up before they could cut my head off. Ran away, escaped. Picked up a fancy rock for a wizard, went down to a tower and had a jaunty little fight with a dragon. Went up to the Greybeards and took off running back down those steps as fast as I could.”

The nord leaned on the tree as she stood up, slowly straightening out.

“Then, I joined the Companions like I came back home to do in the first place. I’m not a hero, I was never meant to be a hero, Dragonborn or not I just want to live.”

“I know.” Syrisse said quietly, his gaze distant. “It’s how it always is, isn’t it?.”

Graelynn gave him a questioning look, one he didn’t respond to. 

They traveled down the road in silence as the forest began it’s usual clamor, everything picking up where they left off before hiding from the shadows 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Graelynn stared at the note she had written.

This quest Aela had said earlier in the evening, this quest must be done with a member of the Companions. No one else. I understand your friendship with the mage, but this is not his journey to take.

She couldn’t just take off for Dustman’s Cairn without warning, even though she hadn’t talked much with Syrisse since returning to Jorrvasker. So, in large but well practiced lettering -and a few scrapped copies she hadn’t been happy with- she read over the note before rolling it and sealing it.

Syrisse,  
I have to do something to do with the Companions, I am to go with Farkas and no one else. It should be simple enough, retrieve one artifact from a dusty old crypt and come back. I have had my armor looked over to ensure it is in good condition, I have a horse for the journey there and back. I hope you do not cause too much trouble, I would hate to have to pull some strings and get you pulled out of prison. 

Thank you, and I hope to see you when I return.

-Graelynn.

She walked to the inn with her supplies already slung over her back.

“Next time you see that elf, Syrisse, please give him this.”  
She passed a few coins to the keeper at the Bannered Mare before meeting up with Farkas at the Stables.

“Good weather, isn’t it?” Farkas made an offhand gesture at the sky, which was grey and ominous. It certainly hinted that winter was on it’s way, and odds were the temperature would drop before they even reached Dustman’s Cairn.

“Perfect, just a little more wind and a dash of rain and it’ll be set.” Graelynn loaded her pack onto her horse before waving the other nord over.

“We’ll load our supplies onto the horse, let her take some of the burden off our shoulders.”

Farkas shrugged and then helped her strap the other packs into position. 

“What if something scares her off?”

“She’ll come back to the stables, she’s clever like that and well trained. Guy I bought her off of knew what he was doing.” Graelynn checked the horses hooves for cracks or injury once again.The large hooves looked healthy, and the horse looked to be in general good health. The stables had charged a decent fee, but one she was able to cover and proved to be worth the extra time it gave her.

“I’m sure that cost you more than a little bit of coin.” 

“Worth every septim and then some, she’s saved my hide more than a couple times and is pretty good at knowing when to head for the hills.” Graelynne gave the mare an affectionate scratch on the neck.

“I’ll take your judgment on this. Personally, I like it. We’ll make better time this way.” Farkas clapped her on the shoulder, and Graelynn gave him a gentle shove in return as they started the trek to the Cairn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gee, two updates in two days? Yup, it's true. 
> 
> Also, thank you so much for the comments! They provide so much of my motivation to find a moment and sit down and write for a bit. This chapter hasn't even sat for longer than a day because I was so excited to post it. 
> 
> An additional thank you to anyone hopping over to ao3 for a read from my tumblr, multifandomcatastrophe. I see you there, I get you.
> 
> I am currently working on art for Syrisse (fun fact, spellcheck believes his name is Syria) and Graelynn so feel free to check out my tumblr and/or pester me to finish it.


	6. Sleepless

Syrisse watched carefully, silently marking the bags beneath his friends' eyes and the way she would move stiffly at times as if her joints ached. Her silence was different than usual, and when she spoke it alternated between anxious and furious. The thing that had him the most concerned however was how often she bolted awake at night, clawing away the blanket and gasping for air like she was drowning.

His own memories of vampirism were muted, hazy, and grey, but even after so long away from Nirn he remembered the nightmares. More acutely, he remembered what had caused them and what the result was.

“Graelynn.” He spoke up after once again the Nord thrashed and mumbled as she woke. “Is everything okay?”

She mumbled something along the lines of “Go to sleep, it’s fine.”

“I might be, you’re not. Something happened. Listen if it's-”

“Oh fuck off.” Graelynn’s voice was wide awake now. “Okay? You aren’t going to get it, you have no idea what’s actually going on so-”

Syrisse interrupted, “When I knew it, the earliest phase was called Porphyric Hemophilia. At this point, all it takes is a potion and you can cure it-” 

Graelynn snarled from across the fire.   
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about but it doesn’t matter.”

“Once your heart stops, it's harder to cure. That’s all I’m trying to say. Vampirism is a bitch and a half to get rid of, I won’t say it’s impossible. But it’s awful.”

Graelynn was silent.

“Anything, a scratch or a bite. Or maybe a really clever one could have slipped their own blood into a drink. I just… I’ve seen this. I’ve felt this. I don’t want you to suddenly wake up and realize you died.”

Graelynn was silent for a little bit longer.

“It’s not… Vampirism. I promise. It’s just a few nightmares and I’m a light sleeper.”

Syrisse shook his head. 

“It’s more than that, I’ve seen you have nightmares. Are you sure-”

“Yes.”

There was something odd in her tone this time. Something that made Syrisse shut up and listen.

“Look, the Companions are… a little more complicated than I uh… well…”

Graelynn flopped back into her bedroll, staring up at the night sky. Her expression was reluctant. She really didn’t want to be the one to betray the Companions but it was Syrisse. He didn’t gossip, in fact, he rarely talked about people in general. At least until they really got on his nerves.

“You can not tell anyone this. Seriously. You thought the idea of the Companions coming after you was bad before-”

“Not really but continue.” His tone was flippant.

Graelynn sighed. That didn’t make it easier.

“Does it change your mind if you know that a number of them happen to be eh… Strongly influenced by Hircine?” 

“So…werewolves.” It wasn’t much of a question.

Graelynn was silent as Syrisse tried his best to avoid sniggering. He succeeded until the point where the Nord met his eyes, at which point he abruptly started to break down into a fit of giggles. After a brief pause, she started too. The pair guffawing and chuckling in borderline hysterics until both were out of breath.

“God damn, how did I not guess? The wolf symbolism, it’s everywhere holy hells.” Syrisse managed to wheeze. “Even you wear it now, for fuck's sake. I used to be good at finding Daedric cults!”

Graelynn snorted. “Well, you missed the Namira devotees in Markarth.”

“Did not. I told you that was not beef at that stall. I mean, come on though. If I were them, I’d have seen the battle-axe bigger than my face and decided it wasn’t worth the risk.

“Agreed, but I guess I can’t say I blame them. Daedric princes offer power, they offer a release from normal. I haven’t spoken to many, but I can say six or seven years ago if I had been offered a place where no one would judge me. Where I could have a family again, I would have jumped for the chance.”

“Six years ago you were a child. Fourteen is young, even by Nordic standards. Then again, so is 20 by mine.”  
Graelynn shrugged. Grabbing a stick and poking the fire.   
“Yeah, I suppose. But you don’t need to worry about me. The other, uh… members of the circle say I took to the blood well, but it doesn’t consume me. Just… the dreams get weird sometimes. I’ve got it all under control though.”

Syrisse looked doubtful but knew better than to argue.  
“I’ve got it all under control. Don’t worry about me”  
How many times had he heard that phrase, each time more desperate than the last?

How many times had he said that phrase?

He encouraged the fire to burn a little brighter, to reach a little closer to the stars. Something to chase the shadows a little farther away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to hear more of Syrisse's story? Well then friends I'm just about done with the first chapter at the time of posting,


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